Given up on words with ornament

That to describe an impression clearly

I choose the simplest of ways;

For a succinct description without flourish,

Familiar and closest to heart and mind –

A freshly wiped window without smudge.

But when this belief narrow my view

Where all I see is a tree and rock,

What is lost in my careful discerning

Might I miss the fox wandering about

While I’m too pent on pleasing aesthetes?

Wholeness felt by bathing with stars,

Beyond the living, or so it’s called,

Remembered in times of trouble

Where heartbreak sinks to peace.

Far away from the body it lies

Yet open for access always;

And how it allows us to see

Beyond the glass.

Are the sailing leaves apart from me?

Soon as I call them a word, they’re different.

But when I stand alone

Watching them come down in streams

I’m not an outlier in the shadows of their majesty.

A part from me, apart in my rejection,

Though texts describe the anatomy of a leaf,

Growing from a tree or a bush, different than I,

But a tree from which I eat,

And how a leaf dissolves in the soil I stand,

Carried by winds and storms,

Breaking into pieces then emptied into puddles

It floats in the words of Aurelius:

I see myself standing in the puddle

Passing with his death, as did he,

Yet giving life to the surrounding trees.

Forgive my prattles, but I have questions,

Questions which prod for days like gnats

Remaining unanswered in satisfactory,

For even if the answer is grim, I’d rather

Rather have an acrid dish of fermented fish skin

Than to drive circles in the ground.

And forgive my credulity and haste

For a fault I’ve succumbed to

Is trading dignity for any answer,

As long as it’s a confident guru

And claims freedom, a place which can’t be known.

Let me then be, if none have answered,

A satisfactory delight dipped in flowery water;

[words] which settle nicely like a sauté

After the sauce and spices added.

Now, is it wrong to wish truth delivered to my doorstep?